Bounty

By RICARDO ALBERTO MALDONADO



21 de septiembre de 2017: “pero estamos vivos”

One: home
Two: home                  dos tres dos tres          two: Mother.

One lápiz. One pen. One ocean between us. Six: Home.

Seven: FEMA: four thousand more,
I recite.

I state I am large; we are to be
larger.                          Uno dos tres siete dieciséis cuatro mil
más
I begin with. I begin dentro de mí, dentro

de nosotros.

I accuse one man. Two men. Three men. Men men. State
men. I accuse whomever I find

I found. I found. Mother, I foundered.

I wanted that truth: one ocean more, one home more
than a wave is glass.

I am one man, more large and savager.

Two men. Three Men. State four, mother. State five. State

state. State, dios te salve, en mí, madre. En tí, dios te salve.

 

Ricardo Alberto Maldonado was born and raised in Puerto Rico. He is the translator of Dinapiera Di Donato’s Collateral (National Poetry Series) and the recipient of poetry fellowships from Queer|Art|Mentorship, the New York Foundation for the Arts, and CantoMundo. He is managing director at the 92Y Unterberg Poetry Center.

 

[Purchase Issue 16 here.]

Bounty

Related Posts

Headshots of Miller and Gill

Marie-Andrée Gill: Poems in Translation from SPAWN

MARIE-ANDREE GILL
Marie-Andrée Gill’s Spawn is a surprising, colorful, virtuosic collection. Its brief, untitled poems span ’90s-kid nostalgia, the life cycle of fresh-water salmon, a coming of age, and the natural landscape of the Mashteuiatsh reserve, centered on Lake Piekuakami

Saudade

DIPIKA MUKHERJEE
In Itaparica, the beach broods / under ruddy sky. Two fishermen / and I search waves spitting / shells: ribbed green, a crown / for a queen; a conch; an obelisk; / a whorled shell; a thin swell / pink modica of a disc.

image of ceramic toy walmart

December 2019 Poetry Feature: New Poems for the Holiday Season

ADAM SCHEFFLER
A poem can’t tell you what it’s like / to be 83 and seven hours deep / into a Christmas Eve shift / at Walmart, cajoling / beeps from objects like the secret / name each of us will never / be sweetly called, can’t show / you her face and eyes like the